


There's A Ghost In My Bedroom

by 1307



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-01-26 18:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12563592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1307/pseuds/1307
Summary: After Grady, Daryl is so miserable all he does is drink shitty instant coffee and work on the same engine part over and over. He doesn't think about Beth and he doesn't think about how his life basically has no meaning now.Until a familiar voice convinces him to head to Palmer Springs.or, Merle's ghost is way less of a dick than he could be.{a rewrite of my original story--see author's note for more details}{tagging as I go}{fic title credit: ghosts by mayday parade}





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> hello, it is i, the worst updater known to mankind.  
> it's been over a year since i have even thought about touching a twd fanfiction. couple it with personal life things and a resounding MEH to all of season 7 and you've got no updates.  
> i've always love the premise of this idea that merle would come back to do one last nice thing so here i am. rewriting this. i've deleted the original fic mainly because this one is going to take a different direction that i'm kind of excited about. hopefully this time i actually finish it and don't get burnt out.

  
[](http://tinypic.com?ref=5ulrnc)   


Daryl would never admit it, but he slept so much better in Aaron and Eric’s guestroom than he ever did back at the prison. He never believed inanimate objects could have feelings, but there was something different about the guest-room as opposed to the two houses that his family called home. Maybe it was just being around different people, maybe it was the clutter that made their house feel more lived in, maybe it was just that Aaron and Eric felt so protective over him. Maybe he just needed to get away from the constant death that seemed to follow Rick Grimes.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Rick. They had become brothers since their time in the Atlanta camp, since Rick had handcuffed Merle that roof. There was no one else Daryl would rather follow in this world. Except Beth. 

But that didn’t mean that Daryl couldn’t be _tired_ of it, it didn’t mean that he didn’t need a _break_ away from it. So when Aaron and Eric opened their room after Aaron had gifted the motorcycle to Daryl, after suggesting maybe it would easier for him to just stay until it was finished; he jumped at the offer.

Daryl flipped on the light switch in the bathroom and gave a heavy sigh to the reflection over the sink before grabbing his blue toothbrush from the cup next to the faucet and the toothpaste from behind the mirror and squeezed a small dot onto the bristles and began to brush. 

Aaron tried to get Daryl’s sadness out of him, tried to understand why Daryl stuck to nearly the same routine of waking, hunting, eating, fixing, and sleeping every day. He poked and prodded at least twice a week. 

Daryl would come down the stairs without showering for two days, his hair matted due to grease and sweat. He would grab the mug of instant coffee that Eric had waiting for him on the counter, then head out into the garage to work on his bike. 

Aaron would give him twenty minutes before coming out, standing on the hard bristled mat outside of the door that Daryl was meant to wipe his feet on when he came in. He never did. Aaron would wait for Daryl to acknowledge him, which he also never did, then Aaron would shove his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. He’d ask _Cold out here, huh?_ or some other variation of awful small talk before he would step off the rug and walk over to any loose item he could find, where he would pick it up and never put it back where he had found it. When Daryl never responded to the attempt of small talk, Aaron would give a small sigh, then attempt once more. _Well, you know where to find me. Eric is making green bean casserole for lunch._ Then he’d wander back in the house and Daryl would continue to stew over his own thoughts. Think. Work on the bike. Take a gulp of cold coffee. Work on the bike a little more. Step outside for half a cigarette. Another gulp of coffee, this time finishing the cup. Work on the Bike. 

Don’t think about Beth. 

He never paid her any mind back at the prison, she was always taking care of Judith or doing laundry. She would help out on the fences when they needed her, but their paths never really crossed. It wasn’t until the worst day of both of their lives when Hershel was slaughtered in front of him by a maniac that he truly started to see her worth. 

Daryl spits his toothpaste out in the sink and runs the water so it goes down the drain, then runs his brush under it before placing it back in the cup. 

He sighs again and turns off the light.

-=-

Normally Daryl is stirred from his sleep by the smell of breakfast making its way up the stairs and under the crack in his door. 

This morning it’s the heavy clad of boots making their way across the wooden floor. He immediately thinks it’s Eric trying to be helpful and dropping off some of the laundry he had gotten Daryl to part with so he could wash them several times.  
But this morning he doesn’t hear the drawers open, he hears the sound of the metal antique model car that’s on top of his dresser being picked up, the sound of the small doors being opened by gravity before being slammed on the dresser with a thud. 

He immediately knows this isn’t Eric and reaches his hand under his pillow to feel along the wooden headboard for the knife he kept taped there. He keeps his eyes closed and gingerly moves his fingers along before he feels the cool metal of the knife. He goes to pull it off when he feels a presence over him and a hand on his wrist. 

“Did you really think you’d pull one over on me, baby brother?” The scent comes back to him almost immediately--a mixture of Jack Daniels and body odor that could only waft from a Dixon. 

Daryl shuts his eyes tightly, trying to convince himself that this was a dream, a hallucination. Just like in that creek back at the farm when he was looking for Sophia. 

He opens his eyes and slowly turns around to be met with equally bad breath. The sun hitting Merle’s leather vest. “Happy to see me?” Merle lets go of his wrist and stands back, watching as Daryl turns completely over and sits up. He blinks a few times, looking at his dead brother right in the face. “Really want me to answer that?” 

“No way to greet blood.” Merle states, looking down at his boots.  
“What are you doing, Merle.” 

Merle ignores him, just like Daryl knew he would. “Nice setup you got here.” He scoffs. “Living with a couple’a fags. Didn’t I raise you better.”

“They’re good people.” 

“Better than crazy Officer Friendly.” Merle sucks on his teeth before spinning around on his heel and walking to the chair in the corner of the room that held Daryl’s discarded clothes from last night. “You need to come with me, baby brother.”

“Ain’t going nowhere with you.” Daryl scoffs as he climbs out of bed, his feet hitting the cold wooden floors. “Fine here.” The idea of going anywhere with Merle, especially since he was capital D Dead, was not high on his list of things to do. Ever. 

“You’re fine alright. Burnin’ yourself, livin’ here in misery every day.” Merle watches his brother’s brows furrow, always relishing the idea of getting a rise out of his sensitive brother. “I saw it alright. Big brother Merle’s been keepin’ an eye on you since you stabbed me in the head. Someone’s got to since Rick is off trying to kill people in the streets.” Merle ticks his tongue. “Only place he’s gon lead you is to your death--although you seem to be doing a pretty good job of that yourself.”

“Some job you’re doing.” 

Merle clenches his jaw, clearly not satisfied with the response Daryl had given him. “That little blonde thing from the prison--old man’s daughter.” Daryl’s face falls. The only thing he could ever count on Merle for was to make a bad situation worse. “Beth, huh? That’s right, ol’ Merle knows all about that, too. Leading her to safety after our good friend the Governor came through. Catching her snakes, shackin’ up at a funeral home.” Merle whistles. “Love was in the air.” 

“Don’t.” Daryl croaks, instantly feeling regret pour over him. 

“You couldn’t save her, you watched as that bitch--”

“I said _don’t_.” Daryl half-heartedly points his finger in Merle’s direction. He’s officially on par with Rick, seeing dead people, rage and sadness building inside of him. He had been trying to forget everything about Grady.

“She’s alive.” Merle states, holding his hands out to his side in a ‘ta-da’ motion. 

“Get the fuck outta here.” Daryl picks up the old-fashioned alarm clock on the side table next to his bed and throws it in Merle’s direction. It goes right through him and lands safely on his jeans. His eyes widen just a little before rage starts again. “Can’t I get some goddamn peace for once? I thought once your old ass died I wouldn’t have to deal with you pesterin’ me, but now you’re here--worse than ever.” He stops for a minute, catching his breath. He had gotten too worked up, something Merle had done since they were kids back in Georgia. “She got shot in the head, Merle. I ain’t stupid.” 

Merle stands and watches his brother try to fight the tears welling in his eyes. He wasn’t mad, he didn’t feel the need to push Daryl to the floor and start wailing on him, letting him writhe before helping him up. “You done?” He asks simply, hands crossing over his chest. “Gonna let me explain some things to you, little brother? Tell you what is fact like I always done?”

Daryl lets out a breath. 

“Or are you gonna throw another hissy fit, Darlina?” 

“Ain’t fact, Merle. She’s dead.”

Merle looks over to the closet door, then back at Daryl. “She ain’t. Bullet didn’t touch her brain. Those pigs brought her in after y’all got over run. She’s heading here now, red car--piece of shit. She’ll break down in Palmer Springs. She’ll die without you.”

Daryl’s nostrils flare as he stares at his brother, the most untrustworthy person he’s ever known. He still wasn’t even sure if this was real or not. “Clocks tickin’. Those biters are hungry.”


	2. two

“There’s no way to talk you out of this, huh?” Shepard leaned against closet in Beth’s room, watching as she shoved her few tangible items into a purple Jansport backpack she had traded for in the cafeteria days prior. 

“No,” Beth responds shortly as she flips the switch on her flashlight to make sure it still worked. “I’ve done more than my fair share of time here, Amanda. I need to find my family.” 

“I told you--they were overrun, that’s why they left you here.” Amanda takes a step forward, her hands up in surrender. “It’s been two months, Beth. If they did make it out, who knows where they are.” 

“They went to find Noah’s family,” Beth responds confidently, “you said Noah went with them--that’s where they went. I know it.” 

“Do you realize how far away Virginia is?” 

“Yes.” Beth sighs. “I’m not asking permission. I’m going. _You_ owe me that. I worked off my debt a long time ago.” 

Amanda pinches the bridge of her nose. “Okay. _Okay._ But let me help you at least.” She takes a seat on the bed next to Beth. 

-=-

Later that night, Amanda trades ward watch with Tanaka. She makes her rounds, checking on everyone else before getting to Beth’s door. She knocks softly three times, just like they talked about a few hours earlier. 

Beth opens her eyes when she hears the pattern, slowly moving her covers off. Amanda steps in and shines her flashlight, the cue for Beth to sit up and start breathing heavily, in and out, huge breaths, over and over, working herself into a makeshift panic attack. “Beth?” Amanda calls in and grins slightly at her, sitting next to her and rubbing her back slowly. 

Bello peers in after rushing down the hall, a concerned look on her face. “Everything okay?” 

“I think she just needs some air, grab a jacket out of the closet, will ya?” Amanda stands up. “I’ll take her down to the loading dock, fewer stairs than the roof.” 

“You need back up? She did try to escape before.” Bello asks.

“I think I can handle a girl having a panic attack.” Amanda sighs. “Get the jacket, we don’t have all day.” 

Bello nods and scurries across the hall to the laundry. 

“We don’t have much time, keep it going.” Amanda whispers and Beth gives a slight nod, just as Bello appears with a police-issue jacket. 

“I’ve got it, Bello, go check on the other wards.” Amanda watches as Bello walks out, before turning back to Beth. “Put the backpack on under the jacket, it’ll camouflage it.” She mentions in a rushed, hushed tone. “Come on, it won’t be long before Licari sticks his nose in our business.” 

Beth nods and puts the backpack on, then the standard issue jacket. It makes her look a little turtle-ish, but at this point, Beth doesn’t care. She was getting out of here--no questions asked. 

After Beth slides the cheap pair of flip flops she wore in the showers on, the two of them quickly make their way down the hall to the emergency exit. “I hope you packed your tennis shoes.” Amanda states as they make it down their first flight, Beth going back to her normal breathing now that it was just the two of them. “Dollar Store flip-flops aren’t really walker killing shoes.” 

“Of course I did.” 

They remain in silence the rest of the way until they get to the loading dock. Before opening the door Amanda turns to her, one hand on Beth’s wrist, the other on the long silver bar that ran across the door. “Again--are you sure, Beth. No one is going to save you this time.” 

“I’m sure, Amanda.” 

She nods before reaching behind her. “It was Gorman’s.” Amanda hands her a gun and Beth scoffs at it, having seen it and used it before. “Guess you can have it back. There’s five bullets in it, all I could spare without someone noticing.”

“Thanks.” Beth takes it and shoves in the waistband of her pants. 

Amanda pushes open the door and holds it, allowing Beth out into the fresh air. She takes a deep breath and looks around--there were a few cars, most of them carrying the white cross on the back, there were a few walkers down on the east side of the gate. “I grabbed the keys that piece of crap red car there.” Amanda digs into her pocket and hands the set of keys over. “Again, I have to look out for us, too. I have no idea how much gas in that thing, I don’t really deal with that, but hopefully, it’ll get you down the road aways.” She sighs and watches as Beth looks at the keys. “You have to punch me, you know. There’s no way they’ll believe you slipped by me without some kind of altercation.” 

Beth lets out a tiny giggle. “Really?”

“I don’t _want_ you to, but I also don’t want them to get suspicious. Anyone finds out I let you go and I’m in your old shoes--can’t have it.”

Beth tries not to roll her eyes at the double standard, the audacity of Amanda to say she can’t take what she dishes out, but she doesn’t. Because she gets it. She gets Amanda is taking a giant risk doing this, even entertaining the idea. So instead she nods and shoves the keys in her pocket. “Tell me when.” 

They stare at each other for a moment, Beth in the too-big police jacket, Amanda in her uniform. For a moment, they were on the same side, just two girls trying to make this new world work for them, both of them taking a huge risk, both of them trying to figure out how they could still hold onto their humanity. “Just do it, Beth, we stand here any longer someone is going to come down.” 

Beth nods, truthfully nervous. She wasn’t a huge fan of violence anyway, and her hand-to-hand combat skills weren’t quite as good as they could be. She thinks about Glenn, about Rick, about Daryl. How they would fight right now, how they would use all of their anger and hurt to take her down and get away before she changed her mind. So that’s what Beth did, she thought about getting taken away from Daryl, she thought about her daddy getting murdered, she thought about Dawn, she thought about Maggie not being there.

And she swung.

She swung right into Amanda’s jaw and pushed her back into the concrete wall of the hospital. Amanda’s hand going up to her lip instinctively. 

And Beth thought like her sister, like Sasha, like Carol, and she quickly grabbed the gun hanging on Amanda’s hip and backed away, breathing heavy, not believing her hand did this--her hands bloodied another’s face, her hands took another’s protection. 

But they did.  
“I’m sorry.” She breathes and turns to the stairs, not wasting any time.


End file.
